


but i wore her jacket for the longest time

by plinys



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2018, Fluff, The Jacket
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-13 23:59:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13581720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/pseuds/plinys
Summary: It’s a jacket, one of Dinah’s, with a golden bird across the back. It wasn’t exactly a canary, but close enough that the irony of it now being in the hands of the infamous Black Siren amused her.





	but i wore her jacket for the longest time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whiteknightswan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiteknightswan/gifts).



> for zoe who is still like the only one that enables me for this ship, and who had matching jacket icons with me on twitter for like 24 hours. (also i wrote this before the last episode so,,,,)

“I had one of these once?”

“One of what,” Dinah asks, propping herself up to look at the sound of the other woman's voice.

Or more so, Dinah focuses on what she’s holding in her hands. It’s a jacket, one of Dinah’s, with a golden bird across the back. It wasn’t exactly a canary, but close enough that the irony of it now being in the hands of the infamous  _ Black Siren  _ amused her. 

The smile that finds its way to her lips at the realization is involuntary.

And earns her one of those eyebrow raised smirks instead. 

“What’s so funny,” Siren asks. 

It’s hard to explain.

Dinah’s not sure she can. 

Shrugging a little and jostling the sheet that’s barely even pretending to cover her at the moment - a part of her knows she should get out of bed and get dressed as well.

A part of her wants to linger there longer, and maybe even convince Siren to rejoin her in the sheets.

The questioning look is still in the other woman’s gaze, so finally she answers Dinah’s unspoken question. 

“It might have been, in another life,” Dinah offers, after all they were worlds apart, there was no way this jacket was  _ actually  _ hers. But clothing tended to be mass produced, and “I think I bought the jacket at a thrift store in Central City, and you were from Central on your earth so…” Dinah trails off, it seems like a lifetime ago since she was last in central.

Certainly long enough that this particular jacket hadn’t lingered in her mind. Instead it had laid, forgotten at the back of her closet for months after it had fallen off of the hanger and gotten mixed with with everything else in the general abyss that Dinah fondly called her closet.

Which hadn’t been a problem until now.

She knew where everything she needed was, and really that was all that had mattered.

It was not like she ever had many people over, a general lack of willingness to have a committed relationship and being to busy in juggling her job with being a superhero, meant that there just hadn’t been time for anyone or anything stable.

And well this…  _ This  _ isn’t a relationship.

Not in any conventional sense of the world.

Not in any way that she could easily explain to the people around them.

The truth is, Dinah’s not entirely certain what it thing between them is. 

A mistake.

The most beautiful mistake.

One that she was going to keep making over and over again.

She never feels any regret, when she lays there in her bed, lingering in the aftermath, holding steady onto the afterglow. 

They’re both still calling this hate sex. The feeling when fighting turns into fucking. It had started like that, pressed up against each other in an alleyway. Dinah needing to feel something,  _ someone  _ just to remember that she was real, and  _ Black Siren  _ having been there an immovable force that Dinah had crashed into with everything that she had in her.

Not to fight, not really.

Fierce lips and rough hands.

A bruise along the side of her neck that she hadn’t been able to explain to the team the next morning.

A lingering ache in her body that had felt  _ good _ .

They’d called it a fight the first few times.

Before admitting that it was something more than that.

A way to burn off steam.

Dinah had called it  _ hate sex  _ once with a cruel twist of her lips, and Siren had told her that she liked the sound of that, before kissing Dinah until she forgot how to breathe.

Of course, it wasn’t really hate sex now. Not when they hadn’t even been fighting today, not in the streets, not even with words. It had just been an excuse, Dinah saying  _ I hate you  _ instead of something more, letting the other woman into her house and into her bed again and again.

It was something more.

Though neither of them were quite willing to admit it.

Neither of them were exactly denying it either.

Not when they were here, in Dinah’s bedroom away from the rest of the world, away from their teams and their enemies, just the two of them.

She doesn't seem much like the Black Siren here. But the truth is, that Dinah isn't sure what else to call her. Certainly they can't share a name and calling her Laurel just wasn't… It didn't sit on her tongue right. 

They were still trying to figure that out.

They were still trying to figure a lot of it out.

“You can have it if you want,” Dinah says, a rare offer, because Siren is still staring at the bird across the back of the jacket, with a look that Dinah cannot entirely explain. 

She watches as Siren examines the jacket for a moment longer before sliding it over her shoulders. She's not wearing anything more than a black bra underneath and a pair of black lace panties slung low over her hips.

Dinah’s still not entirely certain what had compelled Siren to start looting her closet, some joking comment about post sex sundaes and an offer by Dinah that they were generally about the same size in clothing. 

But now…

She doesn't mind.

Not with Siren looking like that.

There was something about seeing her in Dinah’s clothes, that made heat pool low in her stomach, a possessive need. A want for something so much more exciting than post sex sundaes. 

Dinah rises from the bed, letting the sheet slip down fully now, forgotten as she crosses to where Siren is.

Her hands hold onto the lapels of the leather jacket, tugging Siren closer, where she goes willingly and easily. 

“It suits you,” Dinah says, because it does, because everything seems to suit her, “But you know where it would look better?”

When Siren meets her eyes it's with that smirk that always spells danger. The one that started all of this in the first place. The one that makes Dinah want to surge forward and kiss her.

“Oh,” Siren replies. An almost casual indifferent tone. But so much more than that.

Teasing.

They both know things like this, things between  _ them, _ only ever end one way.

Dinah matches Siren’s smirk with one of her own, as she says, “On my floor.” 

  
  



End file.
